Draw up the dew. Swell with pacific violence.Take shape in silence. Grow as the clouds grew....Beautiful brood the cornlands, and you are heavy;Leafy the boughs--they also hide big fruit.LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »

Once, when dust rolled up from the road and the fields were high with heavy-handled wheat and the leaves of every tree were gray a...nd curledup and hung head down, I went in the meadow with an old broom like a gun, where the dandelions had begun to seed and the low ground was cracked, and I flushed grasshoppers from the goldenrod in whirring clouds like quail and shot them down. I smelled wheat in the warm wind and every weed. I tasted dust in my mouth.... I hunted Horse Simon in the shade of a tree. I rode the broom over the brown meadow grass and with a fist like pistol butt and trigger shot the Indian on Horse Simon down.... My horse had a golden tail. Dust rolled up behind. He was on the tractor in a broad-brimmed hat. With a fist like a pistol butt and trigger, going fast, I shot him down.LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »

He is a man of thirty-five, but looks fifty. He is bald, has varicose veins and wears spectacles, or would wear them if his only p...air were not chronically lost. If things are normal with him, he will be suffering from malnutrition, but if he has recently had a lucky streak, he will be suffering from a hangover. At present it is half past eleven in the morning, and according to his schedule he should have started work two hours ago; but even if he had made any serious effort to start he would have been frustrated by the almost continuous ringing of the telephone bell, the yells of the baby, the rattle of an electric drill out in the street, and the heavy boots of his creditors clumping up the stairs. The most recent interruption was the arrival of the second post, which brought him two circulars and an income tax demand printed in red. Needless to say this person is a writer.LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »

When you grow up you realize that there isn't really any Santa but the monsters are still around. If only they were big and hairy;... now they're just dark and amorphous, and they're no longer afraid of the light. Sometimes they're the guy who climbs in the window and takes your television. And sometimes they're the guy who walks out the front door with your heart in his hand and never comes back. And sometimes they're the job or the bank or the wife or the boss or just that sort of dark heavy feeling that sits between your shoulder blades like a backpack. There are always terrible things waiting to grab you by the ankle, to pull you under, to get you with their long horrible arms. And you lie in bed and look at the shadows on the ceiling and feel, under the covers, just for a moment, like you're safe. One more day alive.LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »

Understand me: I wish to be a man from somewhere, a moan among men. You see, a slave, when he passes by, weary and surly, carrying... a heavy load, limping along and looking down at his feet, only at his feet to avoid falling down; he is in his town, like a leaf in greenery, like a tree in a forest, argos surrounds him, heavy and warm, full of herself; I want to be that slave, Electra, I want to pull the city around me and to roll myself up in it like a blanket. I will not leave.LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »

they filled his bellywith large stones and sewed him up....He was as heavy as a cemeteryand when he woke up and tried to run offhe fell over dead. Killed by his own weight.Many a deception ends on such a note.LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »

Alonzo. What, all so soon asleep! I wish mine eyesWould, with themselves, shut up my thoughts. I find...They are inclined to do so.Sebastian. Please you, sir,Do not omit the heavy offer of it.It seldom visits sorrow; when it doth,It is a comforter.LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »

A heavy sentence, my most sovereign liege,And all unlooked-for from Your Highness' mouth....A dearer merit, not so deep a maimAs to be cast forth in the common air,Have I deserved at Your Highness' hands.The language I have learned these forty years,My native English, now I must forgo;And now my tongue's use is to me nor moreThan an unstringed viol or a harp.Or like a cunning instrument cased up,Or, being open, put into his handsThat knows no touch to tune the harmony.Within my mouth you have enjailed my tongue,Doubly portcullised with my teeth and lips,And dull unfeeling barren ignoranceIs made my jailer to attend on me.LESSATTRIBUTION DETAIL »